


Glittering

by orphan_account



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M, body glitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4526625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching over your innocent cousin is sometimes a lot more effort than it's worth. Tybalt never wants to wear high heels again. (Written for a Tumblr prompt.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glittering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SosearchingRomeo (Breakingthestandards)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breakingthestandards/gifts).



“Ah, Tybalt!” Mercutio leaned back, flexing his hands and grinning proudly up at the taller boy before him; a very tall, glowering boy in very heavy makeup who looked more than ready to punch him in the face. “You _shall_ go to the ball!”

“I am going to kill you.”

Mercutio tsked, returning to his makeup box and replacing the two tubes of brightly-colored lipstick he had combined to adorn Tybalt’s pouting lips. “So rude. And after you came to me asking for help, too! A better person would be grateful for my assistance.”

“I’m wearing heels. I don’t have to be grateful about anything right now.” Tybalt scuffed his feet, scowling petulantly down at his ensemble, before abruptly raising his head again. “And I never asked you for help! You _offered_ your help, quite boldly might I add-”

“And you were hardly in a position to say no.” Mercutio crossed his arms, smirking at the delightful sight of his sometimes-enemy before him; before the night was up he would have to snap a picture, because knowing Tybalt’s sensibilities pictures of him in the ensemble that he’d put together could be used as blackmail material for years. It didn’t help that he hardly looked good; a leather vest was normal fare for him, but the same could hardly be claimed for the fishnet tights, or the bright neon makeup paint streaked across his face. His unruly hair had been tied back in a messy ponytail. He looked like a sad clown, if Mercutio was being honest. Then again, all of the artistic skills in the world couldn’t hope to change the way Tybalt’s face looked naturally. 

“Here’s how I see it- you need to get into that party, right, to keep an eye on Juliet. But since the party is at the Neon Club, you have to pass as someone who would belong there. I gave you my aid, raided my own party closet, allowed you use of _my_ makeup, encouraged you to defy societal gender norms; and in return, I ask for nothing-”

“Other than thirty dollars.”

“A small price to pay, to be sure!”

_Not for heels,_ Tybalt thought darkly to himself, and not for the first time it occurred to him that this was a truly awful idea. Trusting Mercutio was always a bad idea; his zany schemes could steer a straight line in the wrong direction. But he had his reasons, and they were exactly what Mercutio had said; he had to keep an eye on Juliet while she was out with her female cousins for Rosaline’s birthday. Rosaline had snubbed Tybalt from the invitations out of sheer disdain; the girls were heading for a club that was known to specialize in dancing, neon lights, and the occasional debauchery if you fell into the wrong crowd. In short, no way was Tybalt letting innocent Juliet head there without his protection. Going to Mercutio had been a last resort.

“Why do I get the feeling that this isn’t the first time you’ve done this?”

Mercutio snorted. “If you mean giving a makeover? That’s because it isn’t. I’ve done _drag_ before, and that involves a lot more effort than a little glitter and some neon face paint. However, those are all fantastic stories for another day, and you, sweet, hideous Tybalt, are going to shine brighter than any star in the club. Even with your face.” He spread his arms wide. “And all thanks to me!”

Tybalt raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “This is going to end badly for me,” he asked, “isn’t it?”

“In all likelihood, yeah.” Mercutio clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “So, you’d better get to it! Have a nice time, Tybalt, you unfortunate soul! Don’t smear your makeup.”

Tybalt took one step and promptly fell on his rear. Walking in heels was harder than he thought.

There was no way he was ever going to survive this night.

xXx

Several hours later, Mercutio was in bed- shockingly. Going to bed at a human time was a feat for him, but thanks to not having slept at all the night before, on this night he was for once in bed at a sensible midnight.

He was feeling quite proud of himself; that’s why, when his phone suddenly rang, he had half a mind not to answer it at all. But he remembered Tybalt, remembered how this entire scheme was almost certain to backfire on him; grudgingly, though with no small degree of eagerness to see how the entire fiasco had played out, he picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear.

“I got caught,” was the first thing Tybalt said, and Mercutio had to stop himself from laughing aloud.

“And how, oh gleaming product of my demented mind, did that happen?”

“Juliet recognized me about halfway through the night,” he replied, and then groaned slightly. “She got so angry at me for following her that she shouted me halfway out the door... and security escorted me the rest of the way over the threshold. I short, I was kicked out, and now Juliet is probably angry at me for life.”

Even though Tybalt couldn’t see the broad grin on Mercutio’s face, there was little doubt that he could hear it in his voice over the other end of the line. “Sounds like a fun night. So what do you want to do now?”

“Can I-” Taking a deep breath, Tybalt swallowed his pride and spit it out. “Can you come get me? I’m all the way on the other side of town, wearing body glitter, and like hell am I walking home in heels.”

“You know, you really need to learn to start saying please.” But Mercutio was already out of bed, pulling on a shirt and some jeans, grabbing his dark leather jacket from where he’d discarded it haphazardly over a chair. “Sure, I’ll come get you.”

“... thanks,” Tybalt muttered, sounding strained, and then the line went dead. Mercutio fought the urge to laugh.

It took him longer than he’d thought it would to locate Tybalt across town. He’d have thought the worn-down looking Capulet in such outrageous costume would have stood out even in Verona’s weirder section (a place that Mercutio knew unsurprisingly well). Evidently, however, Tybalt could still avoid being seen when he wanted to; and at the moment he _really_ didn’t feel like being seen.

He made such a dejected figure that, when Mercutio finally pulled up his motorcycle along side him, he found to his horror that he almost felt bad for the temperamental Capulet. His intentions had been noble, at the very least; the public embarrassment at being unmasked by his cousin hadn’t been his fault.

And maybe it was just the fact that it was Mercutio’s artwork all over his face, but he really didn’t wear the makeup too badly after all. Not the eyeliner, nor the face paint… not even the fishnets...

“There you are,” Tybalt muttered, catching sight of the bike and immediately starting towards it. “Took you long enough to-”

“Maybe I really am tired,” was the only thing Mercutio remarked before he abruptly lunged forward and pressed his lips to Tybalt’s own. The Capulet immediately tensed, his first reflex to fight against suddenly having his enemy kiss him; but to Mercutio’s utter surprise, though Tybalt’s hands were clamped on his shoulders, he didn’t push him away. In fact, he practically dragged Mercutio closer towards him, deepening the kiss himself to the point where Mercutio let out a soft moan against his mouth.

They were forced to pull away only to gasp for breath; once parted, their senses seemed to return to them both. Wordlessly, the two teens gaped at each other for a stunned moment; then, Mercutio turned and mounted the bike again. Tybalt followed, discarding the high heels on the sidewalk as he did so. He wasn’t sorry to leave them behind as the bike sped away.


End file.
